On the quiet grace of in-between moments and the inner wisdom found in stillness.
I remember sitting at a railway station once—not because I was waiting for a train, but because I had missed mine.
The platform was nearly empty, late in the afternoon. The sun slanted through the iron lattice of the roof, painting golden shadows on the concrete. Around me, the world seemed to momentarily stop. No rush. No arrival. Just that strange silence that follows a change of plans.
I had nowhere to be urgently, and no one to blame. So I sat. I watched an old man slowly sip his tea. I listened to the distant clatter of another train pulling in far down the line. I noticed the way pigeons huddled together near the rafters, quiet and unhurried.
And I felt something rare: a pause that wasn’t empty—but sacred.
We live in a culture obsessed with momentum. We glorify action, productivity, forward motion. Even our healing is supposed to be fast-tracked, even our rest must be purposeful. Pausing—truly pausing—is often seen as indulgent. Or worse, lazy.
But not everything grows by moving. Some things only deepen in stillness.
There are moments in life when we stand between chapters. Not quite where we were, not yet where we’re going. These are not always comfortable. They feel vague, unproductive, slow. But in truth, these liminal spaces are where some of the deepest inner shifts take place.
Think of the earth in winter. Nothing seems to be happening on the surface. But beneath, there is quiet repair. Roots strengthening. Soil absorbing. A readiness being cultivated.
The same happens within us—when we allow a sacred pause.
A relationship ends. A project completes. An identity feels outdated. We instinctively rush to fill the vacuum. But what if we didn’t?
What if we let ourselves be in between—without judgment, without agenda?
There is power in the pause.
Power in resting without guilt.
In feeling without needing to label.
In waiting without rushing to define what’s next.
So if you find yourself in a space where nothing is moving, no clear answers are showing up, and the road ahead feels temporarily blurred—don’t panic.
You are not lost.
You are simply being reoriented.
Let the stillness do its work.
Not every season demands growth. Some simply prepare the ground.
Let this be your reminder that the pause is not the absence of life—it is its quiet preparation. A sacred space where the soul exhales.
And sometimes, in the hush between two heartbeats, we hear the next call.
Letters for the Inner Journey by Pushkar
Whisper back, if the letter spoke to you.